"Perhaps after a while I'll get used to it, but I'm afraidconcerts spoil people for everyday life. I suppose that is whyMarilla disapproves of them. Marilla is such a sensible woman.It must be a great deal better to be sensible; but still, I don'tbelieve I'd really want to be a sensible person, because they areso unromantic. Mrs. Lynde says there is no danger of my everbeing one, but you can never tell. I feel just now that I maygrow up to be sensible yet. But perhaps that is only because I'mtired. I simply couldn't sleep last night for ever so long. Ijust lay awake and imagined the concert over and over again.That's one splendid thing about such affairs--it's so lovely tolook back to them."

Eventually, however, Avonlea school slipped back into its oldgroove and took up its old interests. To be sure, the concertleft traces. Ruby Gillis and Emma White, who had quarreled overa point of precedence in their platform seats, no longer sat atthe same desk, and a promising friendship of three years wasbroken up. Josie Pye and Julia Bell did not "speak" for threemonths, because Josie Pye had told Bessie Wright that Julia Bell'sbow when she got up to recite made her think of a chicken jerkingits head, and Bessie told Julia. None of the Sloanes would haveany dealings with the Bells, because the Bells had declared thatthe Sloanes had too much to do in the program, and the Sloaneshad retorted that the Bells were not capable of doing the littlethey had to do properly. Finally, Charlie Sloane fought MoodySpurgeon MacPherson, because Moody Spurgeon had said that AnneShirley put on airs about her recitations, and Moody Spurgeonwas "licked"; consequently Moody Spurgeon's sister, Ella May,would not "speak" to Anne Shirley all the rest of the winter.With the exception of these trifling frictions, work in MissStacy's little kingdom went on with regularity and smoothness.

The winter weeks slipped by. It was an unusually mild winter,with so little snow that Anne and Diana could go to school nearlyevery day by way of the Birch Path. On Anne's birthday they weretripping lightly down it, keeping eyes and ears alert amid alltheir chatter, for Miss Stacy had told them that they must soonwrite a composition on "A Winter's Walk in the Woods," and itbehooved them to be observant.

"Just think, Diana, I'm thirteen years old today," remarked Annein an awed voice. "I can scarcely realize that I'm in my teens.When I woke this morning it seemed to me that everything must bedifferent. You've been thirteen for a month, so I suppose itdoesn't seem such a novelty to you as it does to me. It makeslife seem so much more interesting. In two more years I'll bereally grown up. It's a great comfort to think that I'll be ableto use big words then without being laughed at."

"Ruby Gillis says she means to have a beau as soon as she's fifteen,"said Diana.

"Ruby Gillis thinks of nothing but beaus," said Anne disdainfully."She's actually delighted when anyone writes her name up in atake-notice for all she pretends to be so mad. But I'm afraid thatis an uncharitable speech. Mrs. Allan says we should never makeuncharitable speeches; but they do slip out so often before youthink, don't they? I simply can't talk about Josie Pye withoutmaking an uncharitable speech, so I never mention her at all.You may have noticed that. I'm trying to be as much likeMrs. Allan as I possibly can, for I think she's perfect.Mr. Allan thinks so too. Mrs. Lynde says he just worshipsthe ground she treads on and she doesn't really think itright for a minister to set his affections so much on a mortalbeing. But then, Diana, even ministers are human and have theirbesetting sins just like everybody else. I had such aninteresting talk with Mrs. Allan about besetting sins lastSunday afternoon. There are just a few things it's proper totalk about on Sundays and that is one of them. My besetting sinis imagining too much and forgetting my duties. I'm strivingvery hard to overcome it and now that I'm really thirteen perhapsI'll get on better."

"In four more years we'll be able to put our hair up," said Diana."Alice Bell is only sixteen and she is wearing hers up, but I thinkthat's ridiculous. I shall wait until I'm seventeen."

"If I had Alice Bell's crooked nose," said Anne decidedly,"I wouldn't--but there! I won't say what I was going to becauseit was extremely uncharitable. Besides, I was comparing it withmy own nose and that's vanity. I'm afraid I think too much aboutmy nose ever since I heard that compliment about it long ago.It really is a great comfort to me. Oh, Diana, look, there's arabbit. That's something to remember for our woods composition.I really think the woods are just as lovely in winter as insummer. They're so white and still, as if they were asleepand dreaming pretty dreams."

"I won't mind writing that composition when its time comes,"sighed Diana. "I can manage to write about the woods, but theone we're to hand in Monday is terrible. The idea of Miss Stacytelling us to write a story out of our own heads!"

"Why, it's as easy as wink," said Anne.

"It's easy for you because you have an imagination," retortedDiana, "but what would you do if you had been born without one?I suppose you have your composition all done?"

"I wrote it last Monday evening. It's called `The Jealous Rival;or In Death Not Divided.' I read it to Marilla and she said it wasstuff and nonsense. Then I read it to Matthew and he said it was fine.That is the kind of critic I like. It's a sad, sweet story. I justcried like a child while I was writing it. It's about two beautifulmaidens called Cordelia Montmorency and Geraldine Seymour who livedin the same village and were devotedly attached to each other.Cordelia was a regal brunette with a coronet of midnight hair andduskly flashing eyes. Geraldine was a queenly blonde with hair likespun gold and velvety purple eyes."

"I never saw anybody with purple eyes," said Diana dubiously.

"Neither did I. I just imagined them. I wanted something out of thecommon. Geraldine had an alabaster brow too. I've found out what analabaster brow is. That is one of the advantages of being thirteen.You know so much more than you did when you were only twelve."

"Well, what became of Cordelia and Geraldine?" asked Diana,who was beginning to feel rather interested in their fate.

"They grew in beauty side by side until they were sixteen. ThenBertram DeVere came to their native village and fell in love withthe fair Geraldine. He saved her life when her horse ran awaywith her in a carriage, and she fainted in his arms and hecarried her home three miles; because, you understand, thecarriage was all smashed up. I found it rather hard to imaginethe proposal because I had no experience to go by. I asked RubyGillis if she knew anything about how men proposed because Ithought she'd likely be an authority on the subject, having somany sisters married. Ruby told me she was hid in the hallpantry when Malcolm Andres proposed to her sister Susan. Shesaid Malcolm told Susan that his dad had given him the farm inhis own name and then said, `What do you say, darling pet, if weget hitched this fall?' And Susan said, `Yes--no--I don'tknow--let me see'--and there they were, engaged as quick as that.But I didn't think that sort of a proposal was a very romantic one,so in the end I had to imagine it out as well as I could. I madeit very flowery and poetical and Bertram went on his knees,although Ruby Gillis says it isn't done nowadays. Geraldineaccepted him in a speech a page long. I can tell you I took alot of trouble with that speech. I rewrote it five times and Ilook upon it as my masterpiece. Bertram gave her a diamond ringand a ruby necklace and told her they would go to Europe for awedding tour, for he was immensely wealthy. But then, alas,shadows began to darken over their path. Cordelia was secretlyin love with Bertram herself and when Geraldine told her aboutthe engagement she was simply furious, especially when she sawthe necklace and the diamond ring. All her affection forGeraldine turned to bitter hate and she vowed that she shouldnever marry Bertram. But she pretended to be Geraldine's friendthe same as ever. One evening they were standing on the bridgeover a rushing turbulent stream and Cordelia, thinking they werealone, pushed Geraldine over the brink with a wild, mocking, `Ha,ha, ha.' But Bertram saw it all and he at once plunged into thecurrent, exclaiming, `I will save thee, my peerless Geraldine.'But alas, he had forgotten he couldn't swim, and they were bothdrowned, clasped in each other's arms. Their bodies were washedashore soon afterwards. They were buried in the one grave andtheir funeral was most imposing, Diana. It's so much more romanticto end a story up with a funeral than a wedding. As for Cordelia,she went insane with remorse and was shut up in a lunatic asylum.I thought that was a poetical retribution for her crime."

"How perfectly lovely!" sighed Diana, who belonged to Matthew'sschool of critics. "I don't see how you can make up suchthrilling things out of your own head, Anne. I wish myimagination was as good as yours."

"It would be if you'd only cultivate it," said Anne cheeringly."I've just thought of a plan, Diana. Let you and me have a storyclub all our own and write stories for practice. I'll help youalong until you can do them by yourself. You ought to cultivateyour imagination, you know. Miss Stacy says so. Only we musttake the right way. I told her about the Haunted Wood, but shesaid we went the wrong way about it in that."

This was how the story club came into existence. It was limitedto Diana and Anne at first, but soon it was extended to includeJane Andrews and Ruby Gillis and one or two others who felt thattheir imaginations needed cultivating. No boys were allowed init--although Ruby Gillis opined that their admission would makeit more exciting--and each member had to produce one story a week.

"It's extremely interesting," Anne told Marilla. "Each girl hasto read her story out loud and then we talk it over. We are goingto keep them all sacredly and have them to read to our descendants.We each write under a nom-de-plume. Mine is Rosamond Montmorency.All the girls do pretty well. Ruby Gillis is rather sentimental.She puts too much lovemaking into her stories and you know too muchis worse than too little. Jane never puts any because she saysit makes her feel so silly when she had to read it out loud.Jane's stories are extremely sensible. Then Diana puts too manymurders into hers. She says most of the time she doesn't know whatto do with the people so she kills them off to get rid of them.I mostly always have to tell them what to write about, but thatisn't hard for I've millions of ideas."

"I think this story-writing business is the foolishest yet,"scoffed Marilla. "You'll get a pack of nonsense into yourheads and waste time that should be put on your lessons.Reading stories is bad enough but writing them is worse."

"But we're so careful to put a moral into them all, Marilla,"explained Anne. "I insist upon that. All the good people arerewarded and all the bad ones are suitably punished. I'm surethat must have a wholesome effect. The moral is the great thing.Mr. Allan says so. I read one of my stories to him and Mrs. Allanand they both agreed that the moral was excellent. Only they laughedin the wrong places. I like it better when people cry. Jane and Rubyalmost always cry when I come to the pathetic parts. Diana wrote herAunt Josephine about our club and her Aunt Josephine wrote back thatwe were to send her some of our stories. So we copied out four ofour very best and sent them. Miss Josephine Barry wrote back thatshe had never read anything so amusing in her life. That kind ofpuzzled us because the stories were all very pathetic and almosteverybody died. But I'm glad Miss Barry liked them. It shows ourclub is doing some good in the world. Mrs. Allan says that oughtto be our object in everything. I do really try to make it myobject but I forget so often when I'm having fun. I hope I shallbe a little like Mrs. Allan when I grow up. Do you think there isany prospect of it, Marilla?"

"I shouldn't say there was a great deal" was Marilla'sencouraging answer. "I'm sure Mrs. Allan was never such asilly, forgetful little girl as you are."

"No; but she wasn't always so good as she is now either," saidAnne seriously. "She told me so herself--that is, she said shewas a dreadful mischief when she was a girl and was alwaysgetting into scrapes. I felt so encouraged when I heard that.Is it very wicked of me, Marilla, to feel encouraged when I hearthat other people have been bad and mischievous? Mrs. Lynde saysit is. Mrs. Lynde says she always feels shocked when she hearsof anyone ever having been naughty, no matter how small they were.Mrs. Lynde says she once heard a minister confess that when he wasa boy he stole a strawberry tart out of his aunt's pantry and shenever had any respect for that minister again. Now, I wouldn'thave felt that way. I'd have thought that it was real noble of himto confess it, and I'd have thought what an encouraging thing itwould be for small boys nowadays who do naughty things and aresorry for them to know that perhaps they may grow up to be ministersin spite of it. That's how I'd feel, Marilla."

"The way I feel at present, Anne," said Marilla, "is that it'shigh time you had those dishes washed. You've taken half an hourlonger than you should with all your chattering. Learn to workfirst and talk afterwards."

CHAPTER XXVII

Vanity and Vexation of Spirit

Marilla, walking home one late April evening from an Aid meeting,realized that the winter was over and gone with the thrill ofdelight that spring never fails to bring to the oldest andsaddest as well as to the youngest and merriest. Marilla was notgiven to subjective analysis of her thoughts and feelings. Sheprobably imagined that she was thinking about the Aids and theirmissionary box and the new carpet for the vestry room, but underthese reflections was a harmonious consciousness of red fieldssmoking into pale-purply mists in the declining sun, of long,sharp-pointed fir shadows falling over the meadow beyond thebrook, of still, crimson-budded maples around a mirrorlike woodpool, of a wakening in the world and a stir of hidden pulsesunder the gray sod. The spring was abroad in the land andMarilla's sober, middle-aged step was lighter and swifter becauseof its deep, primal gladness.

Her eyes dwelt affectionately on Green Gables, peering throughits network of trees and reflecting the sunlight back from itswindows in several little coruscations of glory. Marilla, as shepicked her steps along the damp lane, thought that it was reallya satisfaction to know that she was going home to a brisklysnapping wood fire and a table nicely spread for tea, instead ofto the cold comfort of old Aid meeting evenings before Anne hadcome to Green Gables.

Consequently, when Marilla entered her kitchen and found the fireblack out, with no sign of Anne anywhere, she felt justlydisappointed and irritated. She had told Anne to be sure andhave tea ready at five o'clock, but now she must hurry to takeoff her second-best dress and prepare the meal herself againstMatthew's return from plowing.

"I'll settle Miss Anne when she comes home," said Marilla grimly,as she shaved up kindlings with a carving knife and with more vimthan was strictly necessary. Matthew had come in and was waitingpatiently for his tea in his corner. "She's gadding off somewherewith Diana, writing stories or practicing dialogues or some suchtomfoolery, and never thinking once about the time or her duties.She's just got to be pulled up short and sudden on this sort of thing.I don't care if Mrs. Allan does say she's the brightest and sweetestchild she ever knew. She may be bright and sweet enough, but her headis full of nonsense and there's never any knowing what shape it'llbreak out in next. Just as soon as she grows out of one freakshe takes up with another. But there! Here I am saying the verything I was so riled with Rachel Lynde for saying at the Aid today.I was real glad when Mrs. Allan spoke up for Anne, for if she hadn'tI know I'd have said something too sharp to Rachel before everybody.Anne's got plenty of faults, goodness knows, and far be it fromme to deny it. But I'm bringing her up and not Rachel Lynde, who'dpick faults in the Angel Gabriel himself if he lived in Avonlea.Just the same, Anne has no business to leave the house like this whenI told her she was to stay home this afternoon and look after things.I must say, with all her faults, I never found her disobedient oruntrustworthy before and I'm real sorry to find her so now."

"Well now, I dunno," said Matthew, who, being patient and wiseand, above all, hungry, had deemed it best to let Marilla talkher wrath out unhindered, having learned by experience that shegot through with whatever work was on hand much quicker if notdelayed by untimely argument. "Perhaps you're judging her toohasty, Marilla. Don't call her untrustworthy until you're sureshe has disobeyed you. Mebbe it can all be explained--Anne's agreat hand at explaining."

"She's not here when I told her to stay," retorted Marilla. "Ireckon she'll find it hard to explain THAT to my satisfaction.Of course I knew you'd take her part, Matthew. But I'm bringingher up, not you."

It was dark when supper was ready, and still no sign of Anne,coming hurriedly over the log bridge or up Lover's Lane,breathless and repentant with a sense of neglected duties.Marilla washed and put away the dishes grimly. Then, wanting acandle to light her way down the cellar, she went up to theeast gable for the one that generally stood on Anne's table.Lighting it, she turned around to see Anne herself lying on the bed,face downward among the pillows.

"Mercy on us," said astonished Marilla, "have you been asleep, Anne?"

"No," was the muffled reply.

"Are you sick then?" demanded Marilla anxiously, going over to the bed.

Anne cowered deeper into her pillows as if desirous of hiding herselfforever from mortal eyes.

"No. But please, Marilla, go away and don't look at me. I'm inthe depths of despair and I don't care who gets head in class orwrites the best composition or sings in the Sunday-school choirany more. Little things like that are of no importance nowbecause I don't suppose I'll ever be able to go anywhere again.My career is closed. Please, Marilla, go away and don't look at me."

"Did anyone ever hear the like?" the mystified Marilla wanted to know."Anne Shirley, whatever is the matter with you? What have you done?Get right up this minute and tell me. This minute, I say. There now,what is it?"

Anne had slid to the floor in despairing obedience.

"Look at my hair, Marilla," she whispered.

Accordingly, Marilla lifted her candle and looked scrutinizinglyat Anne's hair, flowing in heavy masses down her back. It certainlyhad a very strange appearance.

"Anne Shirley, what have you done to your hair? Why, it's GREEN!"

Green it might be called, if it were any earthly color--a queer,dull, bronzy green, with streaks here and there of the originalred to heighten the ghastly effect. Never in all her life hadMarilla seen anything so grotesque as Anne's hair at that moment.

"Yes, it's green," moaned Anne. "I thought nothing could be asbad as red hair. But now I know it's ten times worse to havegreen hair. Oh, Marilla, you little know how utterly wretched I am."

"I little know how you got into this fix, but I mean to findout," said Marilla. "Come right down to the kitchen--it's toocold up here--and tell me just what you've done. I've beenexpecting something queer for some time. You haven't got intoany scrape for over two months, and I was sure another one wasdue. Now, then, what did you do to your hair?"

"Yes, I knew it was a little wicked," admitted Anne. "But Ithought it was worth while to be a little wicked to get rid ofred hair. I counted the cost, Marilla. Besides, I meant to beextra good in other ways to make up for it."

"Well," said Marilla sarcastically, "if I'd decided it was worthwhile to dye my hair I'd have dyed it a decent color at least. Iwouldn't have dyed it green."

"But I didn't mean to dye it green, Marilla," protested Annedejectedly. "If I was wicked I meant to be wicked to somepurpose. He said it would turn my hair a beautiful ravenblack--he positively assured me that it would. How could I doubthis word, Marilla? I know what it feels like to have your worddoubted. And Mrs. Allan says we should never suspect anyone ofnot telling us the truth unless we have proof that they're not.I have proof now--green hair is proof enough for anybody. But Ihadn't then and I believed every word he said IMPLICITLY."

"Who said? Who are you talking about?"

"The peddler that was here this afternoon. I bought the dye from him."

"Anne Shirley, how often have I told you never to let one of thoseItalians in the house! I don't believe in encouraging them to comearound at all."

"Oh, I didn't let him in the house. I remembered what you toldme, and I went out, carefully shut the door, and looked at histhings on the step. Besides, he wasn't an Italian--he was aGerman Jew. He had a big box full of very interesting things andhe told me he was working hard to make enough money to bring hiswife and children out from Germany. He spoke so feelingly aboutthem that it touched my heart. I wanted to buy something fromhim to help him in such a worthy object. Then all at once I sawthe bottle of hair dye. The peddler said it was warranted to dyeany hair a beautiful raven black and wouldn't wash off. In atrice I saw myself with beautiful raven-black hair and thetemptation was irresistible. But the price of the bottle wasseventy-five cents and I had only fifty cents left out of mychicken money. I think the peddler had a very kind heart, for hesaid that, seeing it was me, he'd sell it for fifty cents andthat was just giving it away. So I bought it, and as soon as hehad gone I came up here and applied it with an old hairbrush asthe directions said. I used up the whole bottle, and oh,Marilla, when I saw the dreadful color it turned my hair Irepented of being wicked, I can tell you. And I've beenrepenting ever since."

"Well, I hope you'll repent to good purpose," said Marillaseverely, "and that you've got your eyes opened to where yourvanity has led you, Anne. Goodness knows what's to be done. Isuppose the first thing is to give your hair a good washing andsee if that will do any good."

Accordingly, Anne washed her hair, scrubbing it vigorously withsoap and water, but for all the difference it made she might aswell have been scouring its original red. The peddler hadcertainly spoken the truth when he declared that the dye wouldn'twash off, however his veracity might be impeached in otherrespects.

"Oh, Marilla, what shall I do?" questioned Anne in tears."I can never live this down. People have pretty well forgottenmy other mistakes--the liniment cake and setting Diana drunk andflying into a temper with Mrs. Lynde. But they'll never forget this.They will think I am not respectable. Oh, Marilla, `what a tangledweb we weave when first we practice to deceive.' That is poetry,but it is true. And oh, how Josie Pye will laugh! Marilla, I CANNOTface Josie Pye. I am the unhappiest girl in Prince Edward Island."

Anne's unhappiness continued for a week. During that time shewent nowhere and shampooed her hair every day. Diana alone ofoutsiders knew the fatal secret, but she promised solemnly neverto tell, and it may be stated here and now that she kept herword. At the end of the week Marilla said decidedly:

"It's no use, Anne. That is fast dye if ever there was any.Your hair must be cut off; there is no other way. You can't goout with it looking like that."

Anne's lips quivered, but she realized the bitter truth ofMarilla's remarks. With a dismal sigh she went for the scissors.

"Please cut it off at once, Marilla, and have it over. Oh, Ifeel that my heart is broken. This is such an unromanticaffliction. The girls in books lose their hair in fevers or sellit to get money for some good deed, and I'm sure I wouldn't mindlosing my hair in some such fashion half so much. But there isnothing comforting in having your hair cut off because you'vedyed it a dreadful color, is there? I'm going to weep all thetime you're cutting it off, if it won't interfere. It seems sucha tragic thing."

Anne wept then, but later on, when she went upstairs and lookedin the glass, she was calm with despair. Marilla had done her workthoroughly and it had been necessary to shingle the hair as closelyas possible. The result was not becoming, to state the case as mildlyas may be. Anne promptly turned her glass to the wall.

"I'll never, never look at myself again until my hair grows," sheexclaimed passionately.

Then she suddenly righted the glass.

"Yes, I will, too. I'd do penance for being wicked that way.I'll look at myself every time I come to my room and see how uglyI am. And I won't try to imagine it away, either. I neverthought I was vain about my hair, of all things, but now I know Iwas, in spite of its being red, because it was so long and thickand curly. I expect something will happen to my nose next."

Anne's clipped head made a sensation in school on the followingMonday, but to her relief nobody guessed the real reason for it,not even Josie Pye, who, however, did not fail to inform Annethat she looked like a perfect scarecrow.

"I didn't say anything when Josie said that to me," Anne confidedthat evening to Marilla, who was lying on the sofa after one ofher headaches, "because I thought it was part of my punishmentand I ought to bear it patiently. It's hard to be told you looklike a scarecrow and I wanted to say something back. But I didn't.I just swept her one scornful look and then I forgave her.It makes you feel very virtuous when you forgive people,doesn't it? I mean to devote all my energies to being good afterthis and I shall never try to be beautiful again. Of course it'sbetter to be good. I know it is, but it's sometimes so hard tobelieve a thing even when you know it. I do really want to begood, Marilla, like you and Mrs. Allan and Miss Stacy, and growup to be a credit to you. Diana says when my hair begins to growto tie a black velvet ribbon around my head with a bow at oneside. She says she thinks it will be very becoming. I will callit a snood--that sounds so romantic. But am I talking too much,Marilla? Does it hurt your head?"

"My head is better now. It was terrible bad this afternoon,though. These headaches of mine are getting worse and worse.I'll have to see a doctor about them. As for your chatter, Idon't know that I mind it--I've got so used to it."

Which was Marilla's way of saying that she liked to hear it.

CHAPTER XXVIII

An Unfortunate Lily Maid

OF course you must be Elaine, Anne," said Diana. "I could neverhave the courage to float down there."

"Nor I," said Ruby Gillis, with a shiver. "I don't mind floatingdown when there's two or three of us in the flat and we can sit up.It's fun then. But to lie down and pretend I was dead--I just couldn't.I'd die really of fright."

"Of course it would be romantic," conceded Jane Andrews, "but Iknow I couldn't keep still. I'd be popping up every minute or soto see where I was and if I wasn't drifting too far out. And youknow, Anne, that would spoil the effect."

"But it's so ridiculous to have a redheaded Elaine," mournedAnne. "I'm not afraid to float down and I'd love to be Elaine.But it's ridiculous just the same. Ruby ought to be Elainebecause she is so fair and has such lovely long golden hair--Elaine had `all her bright hair streaming down,' you know.And Elaine was the lily maid. Now, a red-haired person cannotbe a lily maid."

"Your complexion is just as fair as Ruby's," said Dianaearnestly, "and your hair is ever so much darker than it used tobe before you cut it."

"Oh, do you really think so?" exclaimed Anne, flushingsensitively with delight. "I've sometimes thought it wasmyself--but I never dared to ask anyone for fear she would tellme it wasn't. Do you think it could be called auburn now, Diana?"

"Yes, and I think it is real pretty," said Diana, lookingadmiringly at the short, silky curls that clustered overAnne's head and were held in place by a very jaunty blackvelvet ribbon and bow.

They were standing on the bank of the pond, below Orchard Slope,where a little headland fringed with birches ran out from thebank; at its tip was a small wooden platform built out into thewater for the convenience of fishermen and duck hunters. Rubyand Jane were spending the midsummer afternoon with Diana, andAnne had come over to play with them.

Anne and Diana had spent most of their playtime that summer onand about the pond. Idlewild was a thing of the past, Mr. Bellhaving ruthlessly cut down the little circle of trees in his backpasture in the spring. Anne had sat among the stumps and wept,not without an eye to the romance of it; but she was speedilyconsoled, for, after all, as she and Diana said, big girls ofthirteen, going on fourteen, were too old for such childishamusements as playhouses, and there were more fascinating sportsto be found about the pond. It was splendid to fish for troutover the bridge and the two girls learned to row themselves aboutin the little flat-bottomed dory Mr. Barry kept for duck shooting.

It was Anne's idea that they dramatize Elaine. They had studiedTennyson's poem in school the preceding winter, the Superintendentof Education having prescribed it in the English course for thePrince Edward Island schools. They had analyzed and parsed itand torn it to pieces in general until it was a wonder therewas any meaning at all left in it for them, but at least thefair lily maid and Lancelot and Guinevere and King Arthur hadbecome very real people to them, and Anne was devoured bysecret regret that she had not been born in Camelot. Thosedays, she said, were so much more romantic than the present.

Anne's plan was hailed with enthusiasm. The girls had discoveredthat if the flat were pushed off from the landing place it woulddrift down with the current under the bridge and finally stranditself on another headland lower down which ran out at a curve inthe pond. They had often gone down like this and nothing couldbe more convenient for playing Elaine.

"Well, I'll be Elaine," said Anne, yielding reluctantly, for,although she would have been delighted to play the principalcharacter, yet her artistic sense demanded fitness for it andthis, she felt, her limitations made impossible. "Ruby, you mustbe King Arthur and Jane will be Guinevere and Diana must be Lancelot.But first you must be the brothers and the father. We can't havethe old dumb servitor because there isn't room for two in the flatwhen one is lying down. We must pall the barge all its lengthin blackest samite. That old black shawl of your mother's willbe just the thing, Diana."

The black shawl having been procured, Anne spread it over theflat and then lay down on the bottom, with closed eyes and handsfolded over her breast.

"Oh, she does look really dead," whispered Ruby Gillis nervously,watching the still, white little face under the flickeringshadows of the birches. "It makes me feel frightened, girls.Do you suppose it's really right to act like this? Mrs. Lyndesays that all play-acting is abominably wicked."

"Ruby, you shouldn't talk about Mrs. Lynde," said Anne severely."It spoils the effect because this is hundreds of years beforeMrs. Lynde was born. Jane, you arrange this. It's silly forElaine to be talking when she's dead."

Jane rose to the occasion. Cloth of gold for coverlet there wasnone, but an old piano scarf of yellow Japanese crepe was anexcellent substitute. A white lily was not obtainable just then,but the effect of a tall blue iris placed in one of Anne's foldedhands was all that could be desired.

"Now, she's all ready," said Jane. "We must kiss her quiet browsand, Diana, you say, `Sister, farewell forever,' and Ruby, you say,`Farewell, sweet sister,' both of you as sorrowfully as you possibly can.Anne, for goodness sake smile a little. You know Elaine `lay as thoughshe smiled.' That's better. Now push the flat off."

The flat was accordingly pushed off, scraping roughly over an oldembedded stake in the process. Diana and Jane and Ruby only waitedlong enough to see it caught in the current and headed for the bridgebefore scampering up through the woods, across the road, and down tothe lower headland where, as Lancelot and Guinevere and the King,they were to be in readiness to receive the lily maid.

For a few minutes Anne, drifting slowly down, enjoyed the romanceof her situation to the full. Then something happened not at allromantic. The flat began to leak. In a very few moments it wasnecessary for Elaine to scramble to her feet, pick up her clothof gold coverlet and pall of blackest samite and gaze blankly ata big crack in the bottom of her barge through which the waterwas literally pouring. That sharp stake at the landing had tornoff the strip of batting nailed on the flat. Anne did not knowthis, but it did not take her long to realize that she was in adangerous plight. At this rate the flat would fill and sink longbefore it could drift to the lower headland. Where were theoars? Left behind at the landing!

Anne gave one gasping little scream which nobody ever heard; shewas white to the lips, but she did not lose her self-possession.There was one chance--just one.

"I was horribly frightened," she told Mrs. Allan the next day,"and it seemed like years while the flat was drifting down to thebridge and the water rising in it every moment. I prayed, Mrs.Allan, most earnestly, but I didn't shut my eyes to pray, for Iknew the only way God could save me was to let the flat floatclose enough to one of the bridge piles for me to climb up on it.You know the piles are just old tree trunks and there are lots ofknots and old branch stubs on them. It was proper to pray, butI had to do my part by watching out and right well I knew it. Ijust said, `Dear God, please take the flat close to a pile andI'll do the rest,' over and over again. Under such circumstancesyou don't think much about making a flowery prayer. But mine wasanswered, for the flat bumped right into a pile for a minute andI flung the scarf and the shawl over my shoulder and scrambled upon a big providential stub. And there I was, Mrs. Allan,clinging to that slippery old pile with no way of getting up ordown. It was a very unromantic position, but I didn't thinkabout that at the time. You don't think much about romance whenyou have just escaped from a watery grave. I said a gratefulprayer at once and then I gave all my attention to holding ontight, for I knew I should probably have to depend on human aidto get back to dry land."

The flat drifted under the bridge and then promptly sank inmidstream. Ruby, Jane, and Diana, already awaiting it on thelower headland, saw it disappear before their very eyes and hadnot a doubt but that Anne had gone down with it. For a momentthey stood still, white as sheets, frozen with horror at thetragedy; then, shrieking at the tops of their voices, theystarted on a frantic run up through the woods, never pausing asthey crossed the main road to glance the way of the bridge.Anne, clinging desperately to her precarious foothold, saw theirflying forms and heard their shrieks. Help would soon come, butmeanwhile her position was a very uncomfortable one.

The minutes passed by, each seeming an hour to the unfortunatelily maid. Why didn't somebody come? Where had the girls gone?Suppose they had fainted, one and all! Suppose nobody ever came!Suppose she grew so tired and cramped that she could hold on nolonger! Anne looked at the wicked green depths below her,wavering with long, oily shadows, and shivered. Her imaginationbegan to suggest all manner of gruesome possibilities to her.

Then, just as she thought she really could not endure the ache inher arms and wrists another moment, Gilbert Blythe came rowingunder the bridge in Harmon Andrews's dory!

Gilbert glanced up and, much to his amazement, beheld a littlewhite scornful face looking down upon him with big, frightenedbut also scornful gray eyes.

"Anne Shirley! How on earth did you get there?" he exclaimed.

Without waiting for an answer he pulled close to the pile andextended his hand. There was no help for it; Anne, clinging toGilbert Blythe's hand, scrambled down into the dory, where shesat, drabbled and furious, in the stern with her arms full ofdripping shawl and wet crepe. It was certainly extremelydifficult to be dignified under the circumstances!

"What has happened, Anne?" asked Gilbert, taking up his oars."We were playing Elaine" explained Anne frigidly, without evenlooking at her rescuer, "and I had to drift down to Camelot inthe barge--I mean the flat. The flat began to leak and I climbedout on the pile. The girls went for help. Will you be kindenough to row me to the landing?"

Gilbert obligingly rowed to the landing and Anne, disdainingassistance, sprang nimbly on shore.

"I'm very much obliged to you," she said haughtily as she turned away.But Gilbert had also sprung from the boat and now laid a detaininghand on her arm.

"Anne," he said hurriedly, "look here. Can't we be good friends?I'm awfully sorry I made fun of your hair that time. I didn'tmean to vex you and I only meant it for a joke. Besides, it's solong ago. I think your hair is awfully pretty now--honest I do.Let's be friends."

For a moment Anne hesitated. She had an odd, newly awakenedconsciousness under all her outraged dignity that the half-shy,half-eager expression in Gilbert's hazel eyes was something thatwas very good to see. Her heart gave a quick, queer little beat.But the bitterness of her old grievance promptly stiffened up herwavering determination. That scene of two years before flashedback into her recollection as vividly as if it had taken placeyesterday. Gilbert had called her "carrots" and had broughtabout her disgrace before the whole school. Her resentment,which to other and older people might be as laughable as itscause, was in no whit allayed and softened by time seemingly.She hated Gilbert Blythe! She would never forgive him!

"No," she said coldly, "I shall never be friends with you,Gilbert Blythe; and I don't want to be!"

"All right!" Gilbert sprang into his skiff with an angry color inhis cheeks. "I'll never ask you to be friends again, Anne Shirley.And I don't care either!"

He pulled away with swift defiant strokes, and Anne went up thesteep, ferny little path under the maples. She held her headvery high, but she was conscious of an odd feeling of regret.She almost wished she had answered Gilbert differently. Ofcourse, he had insulted her terribly, but still--! Altogether,Anne rather thought it would be a relief to sit down and have agood cry. She was really quite unstrung, for the reaction fromher fright and cramped clinging was making itself felt.

Halfway up the path she met Jane and Diana rushing back to the pondin a state narrowly removed from positive frenzy. They had foundnobody at Orchard Slope, both Mr. and Mrs. Barry being away.Here Ruby Gillis had succumbed to hysterics, and was left torecover from them as best she might, while Jane and Diana flewthrough the Haunted Wood and across the brook to Green Gables.There they had found nobody either, for Marilla had gone toCarmody and Matthew was making hay in the back field.

"Oh, Anne," gasped Diana, fairly falling on the former's neck andweeping with relief and delight, "oh, Anne--we thought--youwere--drowned--and we felt like murderers--because we hadmade--you be--Elaine. And Ruby is in hysterics--oh, Anne, howdid you escape?"

"I climbed up on one of the piles," explained Anne wearily, "andGilbert Blythe came along in Mr. Andrews's dory and brought me to land."

"Oh, Anne, how splendid of him! Why, it's so romantic!" said Jane,finding breath enough for utterance at last. "Of course you'll speakto him after this."

"Of course I won't," flashed Anne, with a momentary return of herold spirit. "And I don't want ever to hear the word `romantic' again,Jane Andrews. I'm awfully sorry you were so frightened, girls. It isall my fault. I feel sure I was born under an unlucky star. EverythingI do gets me or my dearest friends into a scrape. We've gone and lostyour father's flat, Diana, and I have a presentiment that we'll notbe allowed to row on the pond any more."

Anne's presentiment proved more trustworthy than presentiments areapt to do. Great was the consternation in the Barry and Cuthberthouseholds when the events of the afternoon became known.

"Will you ever have any sense, Anne?" groaned Marilla.

"Oh, yes, I think I will, Marilla," returned Anne optimistically.A good cry, indulged in the grateful solitude of the east gable,had soothed her nerves and restored her to her wonted cheerfulness."I think my prospects of becoming sensible are brighter now than ever"

"I don't see how," said Marilla.

"Well," explained Anne, "I've learned a new and valuable lesson today.Ever since I came to Green Gables I've been making mistakes, and eachmistake has helped to cure me of some great shortcoming. The affairof the amethyst brooch cured me of meddling with things that didn'tbelong to me. The Haunted Wood mistake cured me of letting myimagination run away with me. The liniment cake mistake curedme of carelessness in cooking. Dyeing my hair cured me of vanity.I never think about my hair and nose now--at least, very seldom.And today's mistake is going to cure me of being too romantic.I have come to the conclusion that it is no use trying to beromantic in Avonlea. It was probably easy enough in toweredCamelot hundreds of years ago, but romance is not appreciated now.I feel quite sure that you will soon see a great improvement in mein this respect, Marilla."

"I'm sure I hope so," said Marilla skeptically.

But Matthew, who had been sitting mutely in his corner, laid ahand on Anne's shoulder when Marilla had gone out.

"Don't give up all your romance, Anne," he whispered shyly,"a little of it is a good thing--not too much, of course--butkeep a little of it, Anne, keep a little of it."

CHAPTER XXIX

An Epoch in Anne's Life

Anne was bringing the cows home from the back pasture by way ofLover's Lane. It was a September evening and all the gaps andclearings in the woods were brimmed up with ruby sunset light.Here and there the lane was splashed with it, but for the mostpart it was already quite shadowy beneath the maples, and thespaces under the firs were filled with a clear violet dusk likeairy wine. The winds were out in their tops, and there is nosweeter music on earth than that which the wind makes in the firtrees at evening.

The cows swung placidly down the lane, and Anne followed themdreamily, repeating aloud the battle canto from MARMION--whichhad also been part of their English course the preceding winterand which Miss Stacy had made them learn off by heart--andexulting in its rushing lines and the clash of spears in itsimagery. When she came to the lines

The stubborn spearsmen still made good Their dark impenetrable wood,

she stopped in ecstasy to shut her eyes that she might the betterfancy herself one of that heroic ring. When she opened themagain it was to behold Diana coming through the gate that ledinto the Barry field and looking so important that Anne instantlydivined there was news to be told. But betray too eagercuriosity she would not.

"Isn't this evening just like a purple dream, Diana? It makes meso glad to be alive. In the mornings I always think the morningsare best; but when evening comes I think it's lovelier still."

"It's a very fine evening," said Diana, "but oh, I have suchnews, Anne. Guess. You can have three guesses."

"Charlotte Gillis is going to be married in the church after alland Mrs. Allan wants us to decorate it," cried Anne.

"No. Charlotte's beau won't agree to that, because nobody everhas been married in the church yet, and he thinks it would seemtoo much like a funeral. It's too mean, because it would be such fun.Guess again."

"Jane's mother is going to let her have a birthday party?"

Diana shook her head, her black eyes dancing with merriment.

"I can't think what it can be," said Anne in despair, "unlessit's that Moody Spurgeon MacPherson saw you home from prayermeeting last night. Did he?"

"I should think not," exclaimed Diana indignantly. "I wouldn'tbe likely to boast of it if he did, the horrid creature! I knewyou couldn't guess it. Mother had a letter from Aunt Josephinetoday, and Aunt Josephine wants you and me to go to town nextTuesday and stop with her for the Exhibition. There!"

"Oh, Diana," whispered Anne, finding it necessary to lean up againsta maple tree for support, "do you really mean it? But I'm afraidMarilla won't let me go. She will say that she can't encouragegadding about. That was what she said last week when Jane invitedme to go with them in their double-seated buggy to the Americanconcert at the White Sands Hotel. I wanted to go, but Marillasaid I'd be better at home learning my lessons and so would Jane.I was bitterly disappointed, Diana. I felt so heartbroken thatI wouldn't say my prayers when I went to bed. But I repented ofthat and got up in the middle of the night and said them."

"I'll tell you," said Diana, "we'll get Mother to ask Marilla.She'll be more likely to let you go then; and if she does we'llhave the time of our lives, Anne. I've never been to anExhibition, and it's so aggravating to hear the other girlstalking about their trips. Jane and Ruby have been twice, andthey're going this year again."

"I'm not going to think about it at all until I know whether Ican go or not," said Anne resolutely. "If I did and then wasdisappointed, it would be more than I could bear. But in case Ido go I'm very glad my new coat will be ready by that time.Marilla didn't think I needed a new coat. She said my old onewould do very well for another winter and that I ought to besatisfied with having a new dress. The dress is very pretty,Diana--navy blue and made so fashionably. Marilla always makesmy dresses fashionably now, because she says she doesn't intendto have Matthew going to Mrs. Lynde to make them. I'm so glad.It is ever so much easier to be good if your clothes arefashionable. At least, it is easier for me. I suppose itdoesn't make such a difference to naturally good people. ButMatthew said I must have a new coat, so Marilla bought a lovelypiece of blue broadcloth, and it's being made by a realdressmaker over at Carmody. It's to be done Saturday night, andI'm trying not to imagine myself walking up the church aisle onSunday in my new suit and cap, because I'm afraid it isn't rightto imagine such things. But it just slips into my mind in spiteof me. My cap is so pretty. Matthew bought it for me the day wewere over at Carmody. It is one of those little blue velvet onesthat are all the rage, with gold cord and tassels. Your new hatis elegant, Diana, and so becoming. When I saw you come intochurch last Sunday my heart swelled with pride to think you weremy dearest friend. Do you suppose it's wrong for us to think somuch about our clothes? Marilla says it is very sinful. But itis such an interesting subject, isn't it?"

Marilla agreed to let Anne go to town, and it was arranged thatMr. Barry should take the girls in on the following Tuesday. AsCharlottetown was thirty miles away and Mr. Barry wished to goand return the same day, it was necessary to make a very earlystart. But Anne counted it all joy, and was up before sunrise onTuesday morning. A glance from her window assured her that theday would be fine, for the eastern sky behind the firs of theHaunted Wood was all silvery and cloudless. Through the gap inthe trees a light was shining in the western gable of OrchardSlope, a token that Diana was also up.

Anne was dressed by the time Matthew had the fire on and had thebreakfast ready when Marilla came down, but for her own part wasmuch too excited to eat. After breakfast the jaunty new cap andjacket were donned, and Anne hastened over the brook and upthrough the firs to Orchard Slope. Mr. Barry and Diana werewaiting for her, and they were soon on the road.

It was a long drive, but Anne and Diana enjoyed every minute of it.It was delightful to rattle along over the moist roads in the earlyred sunlight that was creeping across the shorn harvest fields.The air was fresh and crisp, and little smoke-blue mistscurled through the valleys and floated off from the hills.Sometimes the road went through woods where maples were beginningto hang out scarlet banners; sometimes it crossed rivers onbridges that made Anne's flesh cringe with the old,half-delightful fear; sometimes it wound along a harbor shore andpassed by a little cluster of weather-gray fishing huts; again itmounted to hills whence a far sweep of curving upland ormisty-blue sky could be seen; but wherever it went there was muchof interest to discuss. It was almost noon when they reachedtown and found their way to "Beechwood." It was quite a fine oldmansion, set back from the street in a seclusion of green elmsand branching beeches. Miss Barry met them at the door with atwinkle in her sharp black eyes.

"So you've come to see me at last, you Anne-girl," she said."Mercy, child, how you have grown! You're taller than I am, Ideclare. And you're ever so much better looking than you used tobe, too. But I dare say you know that without being told."

"Indeed I didn't," said Anne radiantly. "I know I'm not sofreckled as I used to be, so I've much to be thankful for, butI really hadn't dared to hope there was any other improvement.I'm so glad you think there is, Miss Barry." Miss Barry's housewas furnished with "great magnificence," as Anne told Marillaafterward. The two little country girls were rather abashed bythe splendor of the parlor where Miss Barry left them when shewent to see about dinner.

"Isn't it just like a palace?" whispered Diana. "I never was inAunt Josephine's house before, and I'd no idea it was so grand.I just wish Julia Bell could see this--she puts on such airsabout her mother's parlor."

"Velvet carpet," sighed Anne luxuriously, "and silk curtains!I've dreamed of such things, Diana. But do you know I don'tbelieve I feel very comfortable with them after all. There areso many things in this room and all so splendid that there is noscope for imagination. That is one consolation when you arepoor--there are so many more things you can imagine about."

Their sojourn in town was something that Anne and Diana datedfrom for years. From first to last it was crowded with delights.

On Wednesday Miss Barry took them to the Exhibition grounds andkept them there all day.

"It was splendid," Anne related to Marilla later on. "I neverimagined anything so interesting. I don't really know whichdepartment was the most interesting. I think I liked the horsesand the flowers and the fancywork best. Josie Pye took firstprize for knitted lace. I was real glad she did. And I was gladthat I felt glad, for it shows I'm improving, don't you think,Marilla, when I can rejoice in Josie's success? Mr. HarmonAndrews took second prize for Gravenstein apples and Mr. Belltook first prize for a pig. Diana said she thought it wasridiculous for a Sunday-school superintendent to take a prize inpigs, but I don't see why. Do you? She said she would alwaysthink of it after this when he was praying so solemnly. ClaraLouise MacPherson took a prize for painting, and Mrs. Lynde gotfirst prize for homemade butter and cheese. So Avonlea waspretty well represented, wasn't it? Mrs. Lynde was there thatday, and I never knew how much I really liked her until I saw herfamiliar face among all those strangers. There were thousands ofpeople there, Marilla. It made me feel dreadfully insignificant.And Miss Barry took us up to the grandstand to see the horseraces. Mrs. Lynde wouldn't go; she said horse racing was anabomination and, she being a church member, thought it herbounden duty to set a good example by staying away. But therewere so many there I don't believe Mrs. Lynde's absence wouldever be noticed. I don't think, though, that I ought to go veryoften to horse races, because they ARE awfully fascinating.Diana got so excited that she offered to bet me ten cents thatthe red horse would win. I didn't believe he would, but Irefused to bet, because I wanted to tell Mrs. Allan all abouteverything, and I felt sure it wouldn't do to tell her that.It's always wrong to do anything you can't tell the minister'swife. It's as good as an extra conscience to have a minister'swife for your friend. And I was very glad I didn't bet, becausethe red horse DID win, and I would have lost ten cents. So yousee that virtue was its own reward. We saw a man go up in aballoon. I'd love to go up in a balloon, Marilla; it would besimply thrilling; and we saw a man selling fortunes. You paidhim ten cents and a little bird picked out your fortune for you.Miss Barry gave Diana and me ten cents each to have our fortunestold. Mine was that I would marry a dark-complected man who wasvery wealthy, and I would go across water to live. I lookedcarefully at all the dark men I saw after that, but I didn't caremuch for any of them, and anyhow I suppose it's too early to belooking out for him yet. Oh, it was a never-to-be-forgotten day,Marilla. I was so tired I couldn't sleep at night. Miss Barryput us in the spare room, according to promise. It was anelegant room, Marilla, but somehow sleeping in a spare room isn'twhat I used to think it was. That's the worst of growing up, andI'm beginning to realize it. The things you wanted so much when youwere a child don't seem half so wonderful to you when you get them."

Thursday the girls had a drive in the park, and in the eveningMiss Barry took them to a concert in the Academy of Music, wherea noted prima donna was to sing. To Anne the evening was aglittering vision of delight.

"Oh, Marilla, it was beyond description. I was so excited Icouldn't even talk, so you may know what it was like. I just satin enraptured silence. Madame Selitsky was perfectly beautiful,and wore white satin and diamonds. But when she began to sing Inever thought about anything else. Oh, I can't tell you how Ifelt. But it seemed to me that it could never be hard to be goodany more. I felt like I do when I look up to the stars. Tearscame into my eyes, but, oh, they were such happy tears. I was sosorry when it was all over, and I told Miss Barry I didn't seehow I was ever to return to common life again. She said shethought if we went over to the restaurant across the street andhad an ice cream it might help me. That sounded so prosaic; butto my surprise I found it true. The ice cream was delicious,Marilla, and it was so lovely and dissipated to be sitting thereeating it at eleven o'clock at night. Diana said she believedshe was born for city life. Miss Barry asked me what my opinionwas, but I said I would have to think it over very seriouslybefore I could tell her what I really thought. So I thought itover after I went to bed. That is the best time to think things out.And I came to the conclusion, Marilla, that I wasn't born for city lifeand that I was glad of it. It's nice to be eating ice cream atbrilliant restaurants at eleven o'clock at night once in a while;but as a regular thing I'd rather be in the east gable at eleven,sound asleep, but kind of knowing even in my sleep that the starswere shining outside and that the wind was blowing in the firsacross the brook. I told Miss Barry so at breakfast the nextmorning and she laughed. Miss Barry generally laughed atanything I said, even when I said the most solemn things.I don't think I liked it, Marilla, because I wasn't trying to befunny. But she is a most hospitable lady and treated us royally."

Friday brought going-home time, and Mr. Barry drove in for the girls.

"Well, I hope you've enjoyed yourselves," said Miss Barry, as shebade them good-bye.

"Indeed we have," said Diana.

"And you, Anne-girl?"

"I've enjoyed every minute of the time," said Anne, throwing herarms impulsively about the old woman's neck and kissing herwrinkled cheek. Diana would never have dared to do such a thingand felt rather aghast at Anne's freedom. But Miss Barry waspleased, and she stood on her veranda and watched the buggy outof sight. Then she went back into her big house with a sigh. Itseemed very lonely, lacking those fresh young lives. Miss Barrywas a rather selfish old lady, if the truth must be told, and hadnever cared much for anybody but herself. She valued people onlyas they were of service to her or amused her. Anne had amusedher, and consequently stood high in the old lady's good graces.But Miss Barry found herself thinking less about Anne's quaintspeeches than of her fresh enthusiasms, her transparent emotions,her little winning ways, and the sweetness of her eyes and lips.

"I thought Marilla Cuthbert was an old fool when I heard she'dadopted a girl out of an orphan asylum," she said to herself,"but I guess she didn't make much of a mistake after all. If I'da child like Anne in the house all the time I'd be a better andhappier woman."

Anne and Diana found the drive home as pleasant as thedrive in--pleasanter, indeed, since there was the delightfulconsciousness of home waiting at the end of it. It was sunsetwhen they passed through White Sands and turned into the shore road.Beyond, the Avonlea hills came out darkly against the saffron sky.Behind them the moon was rising out of the sea that grew all radiantand transfigured in her light. Every little cove along the curvingroad was a marvel of dancing ripples. The waves broke with a softswish on the rocks below them, and the tang of the sea was in thestrong, fresh air.

"Oh, but it's good to be alive and to be going home," breathed Anne.

When she crossed the log bridge over the brook the kitchen light ofGreen Gables winked her a friendly welcome back, and through theopen door shone the hearth fire, sending out its warm red glowathwart the chilly autumn night. Anne ran blithely up the hilland into the kitchen, where a hot supper was waiting on the table.

"So you've got back?" said Marilla, folding up her knitting.

"Yes, and oh, it's so good to be back," said Anne joyously. "Icould kiss everything, even to the clock. Marilla, a broiledchicken! You don't mean to say you cooked that for me!"

"Yes, I did," said Marilla. "I thought you'd be hungry aftersuch a drive and need something real appetizing. Hurry and takeoff your things, and we'll have supper as soon as Matthew comes in.I'm glad you've got back, I must say. It's been fearful lonesomehere without you, and I never put in four longer days."

After supper Anne sat before the fire between Matthew andMarilla, and gave them a full account of her visit.

"I've had a splendid time," she concluded happily, "and I feelthat it marks an epoch in my life. But the best of it all wasthe coming home."

CHAPTER XXX

The Queens Class Is Organized

Marilla laid her knitting on her lap and leaned back in her chair.Her eyes were tired, and she thought vaguely that she must seeabout having her glasses changed the next time she went to town,for her eyes had grown tired very often of late.

It was nearly dark, for the full November twilight had fallenaround Green Gables, and the only light in the kitchen came fromthe dancing red flames in the stove.

Anne was curled up Turk-fashion on the hearthrug, gazing intothat joyous glow where the sunshine of a hundred summers wasbeing distilled from the maple cordwood. She had been reading,but her book had slipped to the floor, and now she was dreaming,with a smile on her parted lips. Glittering castles in Spainwere shaping themselves out of the mists and rainbows of herlively fancy; adventures wonderful and enthralling were happeningto her in cloudland--adventures that always turned out triumphantlyand never involved her in scrapes like those of actual life.

Marilla looked at her with a tenderness that would never havebeen suffered to reveal itself in any clearer light than thatsoft mingling of fireshine and shadow. The lesson of a love thatshould display itself easily in spoken word and open look was oneMarilla could never learn. But she had learned to love thisslim, gray-eyed girl with an affection all the deeper andstronger from its very undemonstrativeness. Her love made herafraid of being unduly indulgent, indeed. She had an uneasyfeeling that it was rather sinful to set one's heart so intenselyon any human creature as she had set hers on Anne, and perhaps sheperformed a sort of unconscious penance for this by being stricterand more critical than if the girl had been less dear to her.Certainly Anne herself had no idea how Marilla loved her.She sometimes thought wistfully that Marilla was very hardto please and distinctly lacking in sympathy and understanding.But she always checked the thought reproachfully, remembering whatshe owed to Marilla.

"Anne," said Marilla abruptly, "Miss Stacy was here thisafternoon when you were out with Diana."

Anne came back from her other world with a start and a sigh.

"Was she? Oh, I'm so sorry I wasn't in. Why didn't you call me,Marilla? Diana and I were only over in the Haunted Wood. It'slovely in the woods now. All the little wood things--the fernsand the satin leaves and the crackerberries--have gone to sleep,just as if somebody had tucked them away until spring under ablanket of leaves. I think it was a little gray fairy with arainbow scarf that came tiptoeing along the last moonlight nightand did it. Diana wouldn't say much about that, though. Dianahas never forgotten the scolding her mother gave her aboutimagining ghosts into the Haunted Wood. It had a very bad effecton Diana's imagination. It blighted it. Mrs. Lynde says MyrtleBell is a blighted being. I asked Ruby Gillis why Myrtle wasblighted, and Ruby said she guessed it was because her young manhad gone back on her. Ruby Gillis thinks of nothing but young men,and the older she gets the worse she is. Young men are all verywell in their place, but it doesn't do to drag them intoeverything, does it? Diana and I are thinking seriously ofpromising each other that we will never marry but be nice oldmaids and live together forever. Diana hasn't quite made up hermind though, because she thinks perhaps it would be nobler tomarry some wild, dashing, wicked young man and reform him. Dianaand I talk a great deal about serious subjects now, you know. Wefeel that we are so much older than we used to be that it isn'tbecoming to talk of childish matters. It's such a solemn thingto be almost fourteen, Marilla. Miss Stacy took all us girls whoare in our teens down to the brook last Wednesday, and talked tous about it. She said we couldn't be too careful what habits weformed and what ideals we acquired in our teens, because by thetime we were twenty our characters would be developed and thefoundation laid for our whole future life. And she said if thefoundation was shaky we could never build anything really worthwhile on it. Diana and I talked the matter over coming home fromschool. We felt extremely solemn, Marilla. And we decided thatwe would try to be very careful indeed and form respectablehabits and learn all we could and be as sensible as possible, sothat by the time we were twenty our characters would be properlydeveloped. It's perfectly appalling to think of being twenty,Marilla. It sounds so fearfully old and grown up. But why wasMiss Stacy here this afternoon?"

"That is what I want to tell you, Anne, if you'll ever give me achance to get a word in edgewise. She was talking about you."

"About me?" Anne looked rather scared. Then she flushed and exclaimed:

"Oh, I know what she was saying. I meant to tell you, Marilla,honestly I did, but I forgot. Miss Stacy caught me reading BenHur in school yesterday afternoon when I should have been studyingmy Canadian history. Jane Andrews lent it to me. I was readingit at dinner hour, and I had just got to the chariot race whenschool went in. I was simply wild to know how it turned out--although I felt sure Ben Hur must win, because it wouldn't bepoetical justice if he didn't--so I spread the history open onmy desk lid and then tucked Ben Hur between the desk and my knee.I just looked as if I were studying Canadian history, you know,while all the while I was reveling in Ben Hur. I was sointerested in it that I never noticed Miss Stacy coming down theaisle until all at once I just looked up and there she waslooking down at me, so reproachful-like. I can't tell you howashamed I felt, Marilla, especially when I heard Josie Pyegiggling. Miss Stacy took Ben Hur away, but she never said aword then. She kept me in at recess and talked to me. She saidI had done very wrong in two respects. First, I was wasting thetime I ought to have put on my studies; and secondly, I wasdeceiving my teacher in trying to make it appear I was reading ahistory when it was a storybook instead. I had never realizeduntil that moment, Marilla, that what I was doing was deceitful.I was shocked. I cried bitterly, and asked Miss Stacy to forgiveme and I'd never do such a thing again; and I offered to dopenance by never so much as looking at Ben Hur for a whole week,not even to see how the chariot race turned out. But Miss Stacysaid she wouldn't require that, and she forgave me freely. So Ithink it wasn't very kind of her to come up here to you about itafter all."

"Miss Stacy never mentioned such a thing to me, Anne, and itsonly your guilty conscience that's the matter with you. You haveno business to be taking storybooks to school. You read too manynovels anyhow. When I was a girl I wasn't so much as allowed tolook at a novel."

"Oh, how can you call Ben Hur a novel when it's really such areligious book?" protested Anne. "Of course it's a little tooexciting to be proper reading for Sunday, and I only read it onweekdays. And I never read ANY book now unless either Miss Stacyor Mrs. Allan thinks it is a proper book for a girl thirteen andthree-quarters to read. Miss Stacy made me promise that. Shefound me reading a book one day called, The Lurid Mystery of theHaunted Hall. It was one Ruby Gillis had lent me, and, oh,Marilla, it was so fascinating and creepy. It just curdled theblood in my veins. But Miss Stacy said it was a very silly,unwholesome book, and she asked me not to read any more of it orany like it. I didn't mind promising not to read any more likeit, but it was AGONIZING to give back that book without knowinghow it turned out. But my love for Miss Stacy stood the test andI did. It's really wonderful, Marilla, what you can do whenyou're truly anxious to please a certain person."

"Well, I guess I'll light the lamp and get to work," saidMarilla. "I see plainly that you don't want to hear what MissStacy had to say. You're more interested in the sound of yourown tongue than in anything else."

"Oh, indeed, Marilla, I do want to hear it," cried Anne contritely."I won't say another word--not one. I know I talk too much, but Iam really trying to overcome it, and although I say far too much,yet if you only knew how many things I want to say and don't,you'd give me some credit for it. Please tell me, Marilla."

"Well, Miss Stacy wants to organize a class among her advancedstudents who mean to study for the entrance examination intoQueen's. She intends to give them extra lessons for an hourafter school. And she came to ask Matthew and me if we wouldlike to have you join it. What do you think about it yourself,Anne? Would you like to go to Queen's and pass for a teacher?"

"Oh, Marilla!" Anne straightened to her knees and clasped herhands. "It's been the dream of my life--that is, for the lastsix months, ever since Ruby and Jane began to talk of studyingfor the Entrance. But I didn't say anything about it, because Isupposed it would be perfectly useless. I'd love to be a teacher.But won't it be dreadfully expensive? Mr. Andrews says it costhim one hundred and fifty dollars to put Prissy through, andPrissy wasn't a dunce in geometry."

"I guess you needn't worry about that part of it. When Matthewand I took you to bring up we resolved we would do the best wecould for you and give you a good education. I believe in a girlbeing fitted to earn her own living whether she ever has to or not.You'll always have a home at Green Gables as long as Matthew andI are here, but nobody knows what is going to happen in thisuncertain world, and it's just as well to be prepared.So you can join the Queen's class if you like, Anne."

"Oh, Marilla, thank you." Anne flung her arms about Marilla'swaist and looked up earnestly into her face. "I'm extremelygrateful to you and Matthew. And I'll study as hard as I can anddo my very best to be a credit to you. I warn you not to expectmuch in geometry, but I think I can hold my own in anything elseif I work hard."

"I dare say you'll get along well enough. Miss Stacy says youare bright and diligent." Not for worlds would Marilla have toldAnne just what Miss Stacy had said about her; that would havebeen to pamper vanity. "You needn't rush to any extreme ofkilling yourself over your books. There is no hurry. You won'tbe ready to try the Entrance for a year and a half yet. But it'swell to begin in time and be thoroughly grounded, Miss Stacy says."

"I shall take more interest than ever in my studies now," saidAnne blissfully, "because I have a purpose in life. Mr. Allansays everybody should have a purpose in life and pursue itfaithfully. Only he says we must first make sure that it is aworthy purpose. I would call it a worthy purpose to want to be ateacher like Miss Stacy, wouldn't you, Marilla? I think it's avery noble profession."

The Queen's class was organized in due time. Gilbert Blythe,Anne Shirley, Ruby Gillis, Jane Andrews, Josie Pye, CharlieSloane, and Moody Spurgeon MacPherson joined it. Diana Barry didnot, as her parents did not intend to send her to Queen's. Thisseemed nothing short of a calamity to Anne. Never, since thenight on which Minnie May had had the croup, had she and Dianabeen separated in anything. On the evening when the Queen'sclass first remained in school for the extra lessons and Anne sawDiana go slowly out with the others, to walk home alone throughthe Birch Path and Violet Vale, it was all the former could do tokeep her seat and refrain from rushing impulsively after her chum.A lump came into her throat, and she hastily retired behind thepages of her uplifted Latin grammar to hide the tears in her eyes.Not for worlds would Anne have had Gilbert Blythe or Josie Pyesee those tears.

"But, oh, Marilla, I really felt that I had tasted the bitternessof death, as Mr. Allan said in his sermon last Sunday, when Isaw Diana go out alone," she said mournfully that night. "Ithought how splendid it would have been if Diana had only beengoing to study for the Entrance, too. But we can't have thingsperfect in this imperfect world, as Mrs. Lynde says. Mrs. Lyndeisn't exactly a comforting person sometimes, but there's nodoubt she says a great many very true things. And I think theQueen's class is going to be extremely interesting. Jane andRuby are just going to study to be teachers. That is the heightof their ambition. Ruby says she will only teach for two yearsafter she gets through, and then she intends to be married. Janesays she will devote her whole life to teaching, and never, nevermarry, because you are paid a salary for teaching, but a husbandwon't pay you anything, and growls if you ask for a share in theegg and butter money. I expect Jane speaks from mournfulexperience, for Mrs. Lynde says that her father is a perfect oldcrank, and meaner than second skimmings. Josie Pye says she isjust going to college for education's sake, because she won'thave to earn her own living; she says of course it is differentwith orphans who are living on charity--THEY have to hustle.Moody Spurgeon is going to be a minister. Mrs. Lynde says hecouldn't be anything else with a name like that to live up to.I hope it isn't wicked of me, Marilla, but really the thought ofMoody Spurgeon being a minister makes me laugh. He's such afunny-looking boy with that big fat face, and his little blueeyes, and his ears sticking out like flaps. But perhaps he willbe more intellectual looking when he grows up. Charlie Sloanesays he's going to go into politics and be a member ofParliament, but Mrs. Lynde says he'll never succeed at that,because the Sloanes are all honest people, and it's only rascalsthat get on in politics nowadays."

"I don't happen to know what Gilbert Blythe's ambition in life is--if he has any," said Anne scornfully.

There was open rivalry between Gilbert and Anne now. Previouslythe rivalry had been rather onesided, but there was no longer anydoubt that Gilbert was as determined to be first in class as Anne was.He was a foeman worthy of her steel. The other members of the classtacitly acknowledged their superiority, and never dreamed of tryingto compete with them.

Since the day by the pond when she had refused to listen to hisplea for forgiveness, Gilbert, save for the aforesaid determinedrivalry, had evinced no recognition whatever of the existence ofAnne Shirley. He talked and jested with the other girls, exchangedbooks and puzzles with them, discussed lessons and plans, sometimeswalked home with one or the other of them from prayer meeting orDebating Club. But Anne Shirley he simply ignored, and Anne foundout that it is not pleasant to be ignored. It was in vain thatshe told herself with a toss of her head that she did not care.Deep down in her wayward, feminine little heart she knew thatshe did care, and that if she had that chance of the Lake ofShining Waters again she would answer very differently.All at once, as it seemed, and to her secret dismay, shefound that the old resentment she had cherished against himwas gone--gone just when she most needed its sustaining power.It was in vain that she recalled every incident and emotion ofthat memorable occasion and tried to feel the old satisfying anger.That day by the pond had witnessed its last spasmodic flicker.Anne realized that she had forgiven and forgotten without knowing it.But it was too late.

And at least neither Gilbert nor anybody else, not even Diana,should ever suspect how sorry she was and how much she wished shehadn't been so proud and horrid! She determined to "shroud herfeelings in deepest oblivion," and it may be stated here and nowthat she did it, so successfully that Gilbert, who possibly wasnot quite so indifferent as he seemed, could not console himselfwith any belief that Anne felt his retaliatory scorn. The onlypoor comfort he had was that she snubbed Charlie Sloane,unmercifully, continually, and undeservedly.

Otherwise the winter passed away in a round of pleasant dutiesand studies. For Anne the days slipped by like golden beads onthe necklace of the year. She was happy, eager, interested;there were lessons to be learned and honor to be won; delightfulbooks to read; new pieces to be practiced for the Sunday-schoolchoir; pleasant Saturday afternoons at the manse with Mrs. Allan;and then, almost before Anne realized it, spring had come againto Green Gables and all the world was abloom once more.

Studies palled just a wee bit then; the Queen's class, leftbehind in school while the others scattered to green lanes andleafy wood cuts and meadow byways, looked wistfully out of thewindows and discovered that Latin verbs and French exercises hadsomehow lost the tang and zest they had possessed in the crispwinter months. Even Anne and Gilbert lagged and grew indifferent.Teacher and taught were alike glad when the term was ended and theglad vacation days stretched rosily before them.

"But you've done good work this past year," Miss Stacy told themon the last evening, "and you deserve a good, jolly vacation.Have the best time you can in the out-of-door world and lay in agood stock of health and vitality and ambition to carry youthrough next year. It will be the tug of war, you know--the lastyear before the Entrance."

"Are you going to be back next year, Miss Stacy?" asked Josie Pye.

Josie Pye never scrupled to ask questions; in this instance therest of the class felt grateful to her; none of them would havedared to ask it of Miss Stacy, but all wanted to, for there hadbeen alarming rumors running at large through the school for sometime that Miss Stacy was not coming back the next year--that shehad been offered a position in the grade school of her own homedistrict and meant to accept. The Queen's class listened inbreathless suspense for her answer.

"Yes, I think I will," said Miss Stacy. "I thought of takinganother school, but I have decided to come back to Avonlea. Totell the truth, I've grown so interested in my pupils here that Ifound I couldn't leave them. So I'll stay and see you through."

"Hurrah!" said Moody Spurgeon. Moody Spurgeon had never been socarried away by his feelings before, and he blushed uncomfortablyevery time he thought about it for a week.

"Oh, I'm so glad," said Anne, with shining eyes. "Dear Stacy, it wouldbe perfectly dreadful if you didn't come back. I don't believe I couldhave the heart to go on with my studies at all if another teacher came here."

When Anne got home that night she stacked all her textbooks awayin an old trunk in the attic, locked it, and threw the key intothe blanket box.

"I'm not even going to look at a schoolbook in vacation," shetold Marilla. "I've studied as hard all the term as I possiblycould and I've pored over that geometry until I know everyproposition in the first book off by heart, even when the lettersARE changed. I just feel tired of everything sensible and I'mgoing to let my imagination run riot for the summer. Oh, youneedn't be alarmed, Marilla. I'll only let it run riot withinreasonable limits. But I want to have a real good jolly timethis summer, for maybe it's the last summer I'll be a littlegirl. Mrs. Lynde says that if I keep stretching out next yearas I've done this I'll have to put on longer skirts. She saysI'm all running to legs and eyes. And when I put on longer skirtsI shall feel that I have to live up to them and be very dignified.It won't even do to believe in fairies then, I'm afraid; so I'mgoing to believe in them with all my whole heart this summer.I think we're going to have a very gay vacation. Ruby Gillisis going to have a birthday party soon and there's the Sundayschool picnic and the missionary concert next month.And Mrs. Barry says that some evening he'll take Diana and meover to the White Sands Hotel and have dinner there. They havedinner there in the evening, you know. Jane Andrews was overonce last summer and she says it was a dazzling sight to see theelectric lights and the flowers and all the lady guests in suchbeautiful dresses. Jane says it was her first glimpse into highlife and she'll never forget it to her dying day."

Mrs. Lynde came up the next afternoon to find out why Marilla hadnot been at the Aid meeting on Thursday. When Marilla was not atAid meeting people knew there was something wrong at Green Gables.

"Matthew had a bad spell with his heart Thursday," Marillaexplained, "and I didn't feel like leaving him. Oh, yes, he'sall right again now, but he takes them spells oftener than heused to and I'm anxious about him. The doctor says he must becareful to avoid excitement. That's easy enough, for Matthewdoesn't go about looking for excitement by any means and never did,but he's not to do any very heavy work either and you might as welltell Matthew not to breathe as not to work. Come and lay off yourthings, Rachel. You'll stay to tea?"

"Well, seeing you're so pressing, perhaps I might as well, stay"said Mrs. Rachel, who had not the slightest intention of doinganything else.

Mrs. Rachel and Marilla sat comfortably in the parlor while Annegot the tea and made hot biscuits that were light and whiteenough to defy even Mrs. Rachel's criticism.

"I must say Anne has turned out a real smart girl," admittedMrs. Rachel, as Marilla accompanied her to the end of the laneat sunset. "She must be a great help to you."

"She is," said Marilla, "and she's real steady and reliable now.I used to be afraid she'd never get over her featherbrained ways,but she has and I wouldn't be afraid to trust her in anything now."

"I never would have thought she'd have turned out so well thatfirst day I was here three years ago," said Mrs. Rachel."Lawful heart, shall I ever forget that tantrum of hers!When I went home that night I says to Thomas, says I, `Mark my words,Thomas, Marilla Cuthbert'll live to rue the step she's took.' ButI was mistaken and I'm real glad of it. I ain't one of thosekind of people, Marilla, as can never be brought to own up thatthey've made a mistake. No, that never was my way, thank goodness.I did make a mistake in judging Anne, but it weren't no wonder,for an odder, unexpecteder witch of a child there never was inthis world, that's what. There was no ciphering her out bythe rules that worked with other children. It's nothingshort of wonderful how she's improved these three years, butespecially in looks. She's a real pretty girl got to be, though Ican't say I'm overly partial to that pale, big-eyed style myself.I like more snap and color, like Diana Barry has or Ruby Gillis.Ruby Gillis's looks are real showy. But somehow--I don't knowhow it is but when Anne and them are together, though she ain'thalf as handsome, she makes them look kind of common and overdone--something like them white June lilies she calls narcissus alongsideof the big, red peonies, that's what."

CHAPTER XXXI

Where the Brook and River Meet

Anne had her "good" summer and enjoyed it wholeheartedly. Sheand Diana fairly lived outdoors, reveling in all the delightsthat Lover's Lane and the Dryad's Bubble and Willowmere andVictoria Island afforded. Marilla offered no objections toAnne's gypsyings. The Spencervale doctor who had come the nightMinnie May had the croup met Anne at the house of a patient oneafternoon early in vacation, looked her over sharply, screwed uphis mouth, shook his head, and sent a message to Marilla Cuthbertby another person. It was:

"Keep that redheaded girl of yours in the open air all summer anddon't let her read books until she gets more spring into her step."

This message frightened Marilla wholesomely. She read Anne's deathwarrant by consumption in it unless it was scrupulously obeyed.As a result, Anne had the golden summer of her life as far asfreedom and frolic went. She walked, rowed, berried, and dreamedto her heart's content; and when September came she was bright-eyedand alert, with a step that would have satisfied the Spencervaledoctor and a heart full of ambition and zest once more.

"I feel just like studying with might and main," she declared asshe brought her books down from the attic. "Oh, you good oldfriends, I'm glad to see your honest faces once more--yes, evenyou, geometry. I've had a perfectly beautiful summer, Marilla,and now I'm rejoicing as a strong man to run a race, as Mr. Allansaid last Sunday. Doesn't Mr. Allan preach magnificent sermons?Mrs. Lynde says he is improving every day and the first thing weknow some city church will gobble him up and then we'll be leftand have to turn to and break in another green preacher. But Idon't see the use of meeting trouble halfway, do you, Marilla? Ithink it would be better just to enjoy Mr. Allan while we have him.If I were a man I think I'd be a minister. They can have suchan influence for good, if their theology is sound; and itmust be thrilling to preach splendid sermons and stir yourhearers' hearts. Why can't women be ministers, Marilla? I askedMrs. Lynde that and she was shocked and said it would be ascandalous thing. She said there might be female ministers inthe States and she believed there was, but thank goodness we hadn'tgot to that stage in Canada yet and she hoped we never would.But I don't see why. I think women would make splendid ministers.When there is a social to be got up or a church tea or anythingelse to raise money the women have to turn to and do the work.I'm sure Mrs. Lynde can pray every bit as well as SuperintendentBell and I've no doubt she could preach too with a little practice."

"Yes, I believe she could," said Marilla dryly. "She does plentyof unofficial preaching as it is. Nobody has much of a chance togo wrong in Avonlea with Rachel to oversee them."

"Marilla," said Anne in a burst of confidence, "I want to tellyou something and ask you what you think about it. It hasworried me terribly--on Sunday afternoons, that is, when I thinkspecially about such matters. I do really want to be good; andwhen I'm with you or Mrs. Allan or Miss Stacy I want it morethan ever and I want to do just what would please you and whatyou would approve of. But mostly when I'm with Mrs. Lynde Ifeel desperately wicked and as if I wanted to go and do the verything she tells me I oughtn't to do. I feel irresistibly temptedto do it. Now, what do you think is the reason I feel like that?Do you think it's because I'm really bad and unregenerate?"

Marilla looked dubious for a moment. Then she laughed.

"If you are I guess I am too, Anne, for Rachel often has thatvery effect on me. I sometimes think she'd have more of aninfluence for good, as you say yourself, if she didn't keepnagging people to do right. There should have been a specialcommandment against nagging. But there, I shouldn't talk so.Rachel is a good Christian woman and she means well. There isn'ta kinder soul in Avonlea and she never shirks her share of work."

"I'm very glad you feel the same," said Anne decidedly. "It's soencouraging. I shan't worry so much over that after this. But Idare say there'll be other things to worry me. They keep comingup new all the time--things to perplex you, you know. You settleone question and there's another right after. There are so manythings to be thought over and decided when you're beginning togrow up. It keeps me busy all the time thinking them over anddeciding what is right. It's a serious thing to grow up, isn'tit, Marilla? But when I have such good friends as you andMatthew and Mrs. Allan and Miss Stacy I ought to grow upsuccessfully, and I'm sure it will be my own fault if I don't.I feel it's a great responsibility because I have only the onechance. If I don't grow up right I can't go back and begin overagain. I've grown two inches this summer, Marilla. Mr. Gillismeasured me at Ruby's party. I'm so glad you made my new dresseslonger. That dark-green one is so pretty and it was sweet of youto put on the flounce. Of course I know it wasn't reallynecessary, but flounces are so stylish this fall and Josie Pyehas flounces on all her dresses. I know I'll be able to studybetter because of mine. I shall have such a comfortable feelingdeep down in my mind about that flounce."

"It's worth something to have that," admitted Marilla.

Miss Stacy came back to Avonlea school and found all her pupilseager for work once more. Especially did the Queen's class girdup their loins for the fray, for at the end of the coming year,dimly shadowing their pathway already, loomed up that fatefulthing known as "the Entrance," at the thought of which one andall felt their hearts sink into their very shoes. Suppose theydid not pass! That thought was doomed to haunt Anne through thewaking hours of that winter, Sunday afternoons inclusive, to thealmost entire exclusion of moral and theological problems. WhenAnne had bad dreams she found herself staring miserably at passlists of the Entrance exams, where Gilbert Blythe's name wasblazoned at the top and in which hers did not appear at all.

But it was a jolly, busy, happy swift-flying winter. Schoolworkwas as interesting, class rivalry as absorbing, as of yore. Newworlds of thought, feeling, and ambition, fresh, fascinatingfields of unexplored knowledge seemed to be opening out beforeAnne's eager eyes.

"Hills peeped o'er hill and Alps on Alps arose."

Much of all this was due to Miss Stacy's tactful, careful,broadminded guidance. She led her class to think and explore anddiscover for themselves and encouraged straying from the oldbeaten paths to a degree that quite shocked Mrs. Lynde and theschool trustees, who viewed all innovations on establishedmethods rather dubiously.

Apart from her studies Anne expanded socially, for Marilla,mindful of the Spencervale doctor's dictum, no longer vetoedoccasional outings. The Debating Club flourished and gaveseveral concerts; there were one or two parties almost verging ongrown-up affairs; there were sleigh drives and skating frolics galore.

Betweentimes Anne grew, shooting up so rapidly that Marilla wasastonished one day, when they were standing side by side, to findthe girl was taller than herself.

"Why, Anne, how you've grown!" she said, almost unbelievingly. Asigh followed on the words. Marilla felt a queer regret overAnne's inches. The child she had learned to love had vanishedsomehow and here was this tall, serious-eyed girl of fifteen,with the thoughtful brows and the proudly poised little head, inher place. Marilla loved the girl as much as she had loved thechild, but she was conscious of a queer sorrowful sense of loss.And that night, when Anne had gone to prayer meeting with Diana,Marilla sat alone in the wintry twilight and indulged in theweakness of a cry. Matthew, coming in with a lantern, caught herat it and gazed at her in such consternation that Marilla had tolaugh through her tears.

"I was thinking about Anne," she explained. "She's got to besuch a big girl--and she'll probably be away from us next winter.I'll miss her terrible."

"She'll be able to come home often," comforted Matthew, to whomAnne was as yet and always would be the little, eager girl he hadbrought home from Bright River on that June evening four years before."The branch railroad will be built to Carmody by that time."

"It won't be the same thing as having her here all the time,"sighed Marilla gloomily, determined to enjoy her luxury of griefuncomforted. "But there--men can't understand these things!"

There were other changes in Anne no less real than the physical change.For one thing, she became much quieter. Perhaps she thought all themore and dreamed as much as ever, but she certainly talked less.Marilla noticed and commented on this also.

"You don't chatter half as much as you used to, Anne, nor usehalf as many big words. What has come over you?"

Anne colored and laughed a little, as she dropped her book and lookeddreamily out of the window, where big fat red buds were bursting outon the creeper in response to the lure of the spring sunshine.

"I don't know--I don't want to talk as much," she said, denting herchin thoughtfully with her forefinger. "It's nicer to think dear,pretty thoughts and keep them in one's heart, like treasures.I don't like to have them laughed at or wondered over.And somehow I don't want to use big words any more.It's almost a pity, isn't it, now that I'm really growingbig enough to say them if I did want to. It's fun to bealmost grown up in some ways, but it's not the kind of funI expected, Marilla. There's so much to learn and do and thinkthat there isn't time for big words. Besides, Miss Stacy saysthe short ones are much stronger and better. She makes us writeall our essays as simply as possible. It was hard at first.I was so used to crowding in all the fine big words I couldthink of--and I thought of any number of them. But I've gotused to it now and I see it's so much better."

"What has become of your story club? I haven't heard you speakof it for a long time."

"The story club isn't in existence any longer. We hadn't timefor it--and anyhow I think we had got tired of it. It was sillyto be writing about love and murder and elopements and mysteries.Miss Stacy sometimes has us write a story for training incomposition, but she won't let us write anything but what mighthappen in Avonlea in our own lives, and she criticizes it verysharply and makes us criticize our own too. I never thought mycompositions had so many faults until I began to look for themmyself. I felt so ashamed I wanted to give up altogether, butMiss Stacy said I could learn to write well if I only trainedmyself to be my own severest critic. And so I am trying to."

"You've only two more months before the Entrance," said Marilla."Do you think you'll be able to get through?"

Anne shivered.

"I don't know. Sometimes I think I'll be all right--and then Iget horribly afraid. We've studied hard and Miss Stacy hasdrilled us thoroughly, but we mayn't get through for all that.We've each got a stumbling block. Mine is geometry of course,and Jane's is Latin, and Ruby and Charlie's is algebra, andJosie's is arithmetic. Moody Spurgeon says he feels it in hisbones that he is going to fail in English history. Miss Stacy isgoing to give us examinations in June just as hard as we'll have atthe Entrance and mark us just as strictly, so we'll have some idea.I wish it was all over, Marilla. It haunts me. Sometimes I wake upin the night and wonder what I'll do if I don't pass."

"Why, go to school next year and try again," said Marilla unconcernedly.

"Oh, I don't believe I'd have the heart for it. It would be sucha disgrace to fail, especially if Gil--if the others passed. AndI get so nervous in an examination that I'm likely to make a messof it. I wish I had nerves like Jane Andrews. Nothing rattles her."

Anne sighed and, dragging her eyes from the witcheries of thespring world, the beckoning day of breeze and blue, and the greenthings upspringing in the garden, buried herself resolutely inher book. There would be other springs, but if she did notsucceed in passing the Entrance, Anne felt convinced that shewould never recover sufficiently to enjoy them.

CHAPTER XXXII

The Pass List Is Out

With the end of June came the close of the term and the close ofMiss Stacy's rule in Avonlea school. Anne and Diana walked home thatevening feeling very sober indeed. Red eyes and damp handkerchiefsbore convincing testimony to the fact that Miss Stacy's farewell wordsmust have been quite as touching as Mr. Phillips's had been undersimilar circumstances three years before. Diana looked back at theschoolhouse from the foot of the spruce hill and sighed deeply.

"It does seem as if it was the end of everything, doesn't it?"she said dismally.

"You oughtn't to feel half as badly as I do," said Anne, huntingvainly for a dry spot on her handkerchief. "You'll be back againnext winter, but I suppose I've left the dear old school forever--if I have good luck, that is."

"It won't be a bit the same. Miss Stacy won't be there, nor younor Jane nor Ruby probably. I shall have to sit all alone, for Icouldn't bear to have another deskmate after you. Oh, we have hadjolly times, haven't we, Anne? It's dreadful to think they're all over."

Two big tears rolled down by Diana's nose.

"If you would stop crying I could," said Anne imploringly. "Justas soon as I put away my hanky I see you brimming up and thatstarts me off again. As Mrs. Lynde says, `If you can't be cheerful,be as cheerful as you can.' After all, I dare say I'll be backnext year. This is one of the times I KNOW I'm not going to pass.They're getting alarmingly frequent."

"Why, you came out splendidly in the exams Miss Stacy gave."

"Yes, but those exams didn't make me nervous. When I think ofthe real thing you can't imagine what a horrid cold flutteryfeeling comes round my heart. And then my number is thirteen andJosie Pye says it's so unlucky. I am NOT superstitious and I knowit can make no difference. But still I wish it wasn't thirteen."

"I do wish I was going in with you," said Diana. "Wouldn't wehave a perfectly elegant time? But I suppose you'll have to cramin the evenings."

"No; Miss Stacy has made us promise not to open a book at all.She says it would only tire and confuse us and we are to go outwalking and not think about the exams at all and go to bed early.It's good advice, but I expect it will be hard to follow; goodadvice is apt to be, I think. Prissy Andrews told me that shesat up half the night every night of her Entrance week andcrammed for dear life; and I had determined to sit up AT LEAST aslong as she did. It was so kind of your Aunt Josephine to ask meto stay at Beechwood while I'm in town."

"You'll write to me while you're in, won't you?"

"I'll write Tuesday night and tell you how the first day goes,"promised Anne.

"I'll be haunting the post office Wednesday," vowed Diana.

Anne went to town the following Monday and on Wednesday Dianahaunted the post office, as agreed, and got her letter.

"Dearest Diana" [wrote Anne],

"Here it is Tuesday night and I'm writing this in the library atBeechwood. Last night I was horribly lonesome all alone in myroom and wished so much you were with me. I couldn't "cram"because I'd promised Miss Stacy not to, but it was as hard tokeep from opening my history as it used to be to keep fromreading a story before my lessons were learned.

"This morning Miss Stacy came for me and we went to the Academy,calling for Jane and Ruby and Josie on our way. Ruby asked me tofeel her hands and they were as cold as ice. Josie said I lookedas if I hadn't slept a wink and she didn't believe I was strongenough to stand the grind of the teacher's course even if I did getthrough. There are times and seasons even yet when I don't feelthat I've made any great headway in learning to like Josie Pye!

"When we reached the Academy there were scores of students therefrom all over the Island. The first person we saw was MoodySpurgeon sitting on the steps and muttering away to himself.Jane asked him what on earth he was doing and he said he wasrepeating the multiplication table over and over to steady hisnerves and for pity's sake not to interrupt him, because if hestopped for a moment he got frightened and forgot everything heever knew, but the multiplication table kept all his facts firmlyin their proper place!

"When we were assigned to our rooms Miss Stacy had to leave us.Jane and I sat together and Jane was so composed that I envied her.No need of the multiplication table for good, steady,sensible Jane! I wondered if I looked as I felt andif they could hear my heart thumping clear across the room.Then a man came in and began distributing the Englishexamination sheets. My hands grew cold then and my headfairly whirled around as I picked it up. Just one awfulmoment--Diana, I felt exactly as I did four years ago whenI asked Marilla if I might stay at Green Gables--and theneverything cleared up in my mind and my heart began beatingagain--I forgot to say that it had stopped altogether!--forI knew I could do something with THAT paper anyhow.

"At noon we went home for dinner and then back again for historyin the afternoon. The history was a pretty hard paper and I gotdreadfully mixed up in the dates. Still, I think I did fairlywell today. But oh, Diana, tomorrow the geometry exam comes offand when I think of it it takes every bit of determination Ipossess to keep from opening my Euclid. If I thought themultiplication table would help me any I would recite itfrom now till tomorrow morning.

"I went down to see the other girls this evening. On my way I metMoody Spurgeon wandering distractedly around. He said he knew hehad failed in history and he was born to be a disappointment tohis parents and he was going home on the morning train; and itwould be easier to be a carpenter than a minister, anyhow. Icheered him up and persuaded him to stay to the end because itwould be unfair to Miss Stacy if he didn't. Sometimes I havewished I was born a boy, but when I see Moody Spurgeon I'm alwaysglad I'm a girl and not his sister.

"Ruby was in hysterics when I reached their boardinghouse; she hadjust discovered a fearful mistake she had made in her Englishpaper. When she recovered we went uptown and had an ice cream.How we wished you had been with us.

"Oh, Diana, if only the geometry examination were over!But there, as Mrs. Lynde would say, the sun will go onrising and setting whether I fail in geometry or not.That is true but not especially comforting. I think I'drather it didn't go on if I failed!